


unmoored

by 28ghosts



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Episode: s05e21 Exit Wounds, Episode: s05e22 The Internet Is Forever, First Time, M/M, Spencer and Morgan are bffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 05:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9478304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/28ghosts/pseuds/28ghosts
Summary: “When it’s kids who end up our killers, you know,” Reid says, unprompted, pulling his coat close against his body, “I always end up feeling...bad, you know? I feel bad. I know I have no cause to, not really. I’m not one of them.”Hotch stops for a second, walking down the airfield. The cold Virginia air whips around him as harsh as judgement. He’s surprised to see Reid, ahead of him, slow to a stop, head tilted back towards the gray sky.“Let’s get a drink sometime,” Hotch says, before he can overthink it. “If you’d like.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> starts during season five, after/during Exit Wounds and The Internet Is Forever <3

The flight back from Alaska takes most of the day, including a stop to refuel. Hotch spends a few hours on paperwork and then a few hours pretending to do paperwork. Garcia and Morgan spend most of the flight joking with each other. Reid and Rossi play cards for a frankly impressive amount of time before Rossi gets tired of losing.

It never ceases to surprise Hotch how exhausting just being in a plane all day can be. They touch down back home just a little bit before sunset. It’s cold, and Hotch is the last off the plane, just behind Reid.

“When it’s kids who end up our killers, you know,” Reid says, unprompted, pulling his coat close against his body, “I always end up feeling...bad, you know? I feel bad. I know I have no cause to, not really. I’m not one of them.”

Hotch stops for a second, walking down the airfield. The cold Virginia air whips around him as harsh as judgement. He’s surprised to see Reid, ahead of him, slow to a stop, head tilted back towards the gray sky.

“Let’s get a drink sometime,” Hotch says, before he can overthink it. “If you’d like.”

Reid shifts from foot to foot, then casts his gaze backwards over his shoulder through his lashes. “I’d like that,” he says.

-

After four whiskeys in a dive bar, Hotch leans in to Reid’s jaw and whispers, “Please tell me you’re as unmoored as I am.”

Reid throws an arm around Hotch’s shoulders in a way that might seem just friendly, but his fingers curl around Hotch’s upper arm all possessively, protectively. “Of course, Aaron,” he murmurs into Hotch’s temple. He presses a closed-mouth kiss against Hotch’s hairline.

And Hotch feels like he’s a puppet on strings, and someone’s just cut all the strings. He lets himself go slack against Reid, and Reid welcomes his body. Lets Hotch melt against him like they’ve been lovers for years. Not like they’re coworkers. Not like they’re superior and subordinate. In a D.C. dive bar, Reid kisses him like he owns him. Hotch doesn’t mind at all.

-

Reid pulls him into bed that night, but he doesn’t sleep with him. Not technically. They sleep next to each other, but all Reid does is kiss him and wrap his long limbs around him. It makes Hotch feel old. It makes Hotch feel -- it makes Hotch feel cherished. He blushes against Reid when the word occurs to him, glad that Reid is out cold. He makes pancakes and bacon for Reid in the morning and watches Reid solve the NYT crossword puzzle in less time than it takes Hotch to remember where he left his Blackberry. If anyone at the office notices that Hotch is wearing the same suit he’d been wearing the day before, they don’t say anything about it.

-

Then, the Robert Johnson case. Women killed by a man obsessed with broadcasting his murders on the internet. Hidden cameras, a secret warehouse. Something about the case gets under Hotch’s skin more than usual. On the flight back from Boise, Hotch is getting up for coffee when he sees Reid sitting by himself on the far end of the cabin. Hotch gets his coffee but opts for decaf, comes and sits down across from Reid like it’s no big deal.

Reid looks half-asleep, staring out the window at the black tapestry of middle America unwound underneath them. But when Hotch sits down, he finds Reid’s ankle against his easily. The solidness of touch makes him feel human for the first time in a few days.

Hotch waits a few minutes to see if anyone else is awake enough to be paying attention. Maybe Rossi, but Rossi knows him too damn well to fool anyways. Hotch leans forward, finds Reid shifting his shoulders to meet him halfway above the table between them.

“If you want to do that again,” Hotch says, as quietly as he can, “I’ll buy the next round.”

Reid meets his eyes straight on, unflinching. “Sounds like a plan.”

-

This time, they’re both drunk when they get back to Reid’s apartment.

“I get paranoid about there being cameras here sometimes,” Reid says, pressing Hotch against his front door. “Even after cases that don’t have, like, you know, literal hidden cameras.”

“Well,” Hotch says, eyes drifting closed as he’s grasping for Reid’s belt, too overwhelmed by touch and taste to let the vision of Reid’s expression get the better of him. “Just in case, I’ll do my best to make sure they have something worth watching.”

Reid laughs at that, breathy and surprised. “I like your sense of humor a lot,” he says. Of all the filthy things Reid had whispered in his ear during the cab ride back, this is the first thing he’s seemed shy admitting.

-

“I get paranoid about cameras too,” Hotch says afterwards, when they’re lying together in Reid’s bed, Reid’s head resting on his chest. He’s working his fingers through Reid’s tangled hair.

“That is actually a profound relief to hear,” Reid says. “You know, I talk about it with Morgan sometimes, just re-confirming that my fears are normative for someone of my age and career path?” A laugh creeps into his voice, even as his grip on Hotch’s hip tightens. “I think he’s tougher than me, though. _He_ doesn’t worry about hidden cameras.”

“Well, what’s he got to worry about if he’s on camera? He hasn’t got any bad angles,” Hotch deadpans.

Reid convulses with surprised laughter, nearly jamming his shoulder into Hotch’s face. “Oh my god,” he says when he recovers. “I -- I hadn’t thought about it that way, but you’re right.”

“Not that you have much to worry about either,” Hotch says, mock-wistful. “Your cheekbones and your boy band hair.”

Reid rolls on top of Hotch, straddling him, runs his hands over Hotch’s chest. “Shut up,” he says, but he’s pleased. He kisses Hotch slowly. Like he loves him.

-

Hotch is powering down his computer when Rossi shows up in his office one evening, late, briefcase in one hand, clearly on his way out. “Oh, good. I’m not interrupting,” Rossi says. Like he would really care if he was.

“Dave,” Hotch says.

“Whoever you’re seeing,” Dave says, one eyebrow crooked up, “she’s good for you. But I expect details sometime soon, you hear me?”

“She?” Hotch says, fighting to keep a straight face.

( _Straight_.)

Rossi’s expression doesn’t change. “I goddamn knew it. Look after the kid, won’t you?”

Well, not like Hotch thought he had Rossi fooled in the first place. “Of course,” he says.

-

It’s Reid -- _Spencer_ \-- looking after him more than anything else; Hotch and Spencer and Rossi all know that. Maybe Morgan knows, too. Hotch isn’t sure, but he catches Morgan appraising him sometimes. It’s sort of comforting, imagining that Spencer might have told Morgan. He knows they’re close. Spencer telling Morgan makes it feel real. If anyone else knows, they don’t let it show.

-

Spencer gets along with Jack so well. Sometimes Jack will casually drop a new, suspiciously multi-syllabic word into conversation. “Oh, where did you learn the word ‘inviolate’?” Hotch will ask from the driver’s seat, eyeing Jack in the rearview mirror, Jack who’s staring at the passing scenery from his car seat.

“Doctor Reid,” Jack says, sounding out every syllable so carefully that Hotch’s heart breaks.

-

Hotch is in the living room, suffering his way through an article on narcissism in the British Journal of Clinical Psychology that Spencer had strongly recommended when it happens. Spencer’s in the kitchen with Jack, working on a science project that involves fire. Hotch had chosen to tune out after that. Science is Spencer’s thing, not his.

But Spencer’s voice, Jack’s voice -- more important than Hotch’s assigned reading.

“Dr. Reid,” Jack says, all reedy and nervous, leading into a question, but Spencer interrupts him.

“Jack, you can call me Spencer, really,” Spencer says, in that warm, nervous, genuine way he always uses when he’s trying to get someone close to him.

“Dr. Spencer,” Jack says, braving onwards.

Spencer laughs. “No, no, just Spencer, the way I call you just Jack, you know?”

“I’m Jack,” Jack says. “You’re Spencer.”

“Yes,” Spencer says. “Yes, Jack. Exactly.”

-

That’s what gives them away in the end: the barbecue in Rossi’s backyard and Jack charging up to Spencer and Spencer, without hesitation, crouching down to greet him, Jack throwing his arms around Spencer’s neck for a hug. Hotch crosses his arms and smiles, ignoring the way half of the team is frozen in shock.

“Okay,” he hears Garcia say to Morgan, a little too loudly, “I’m no profiler, but, um, does that mean…”

“Sure does, mama,” Morgan says, looking to Rossi, who just shrugs. “Surprised more of you didn’t figure it out. Some profilers you are.”

“That’s not fair,” Garcia hisses. She jabs him in the ribs. “There’s no way you just, like, _profiled_ that. Reid told you, I know it. Reid tells you _everything_.”

Morgan puts his hands up in deference. “Alright, alright, you’re not wrong. Kid does tell me everything. More than I’d like to know, sometimes.”

JJ clears her throat. “Let’s change the subject while there’s children around, shall we?”

-

Jack passes out on the ride home, barbecue sauce on his jeans somehow. Hotch puts him to bed without making him brush his teeth; just once won’t give him cavities. Spencer is in bed already, a journal open in his lap. Hotch lies down next to him, face down, still dressed.

“All things considered, that went better than I expected,” Spencer says, settling one hand at the back of Hotch’s neck. His touch is cool. Something about Spencer touching him always makes him feel better.

He pushes himself onto his side so he can nuzzle against Spencer’s thigh. “When did you tell Morgan?” he asks.

“When did I tell Morgan what?” Spencer’s voice is tight with private amusement even as he slips his fingers under the collar of Hotch’s polo. “That I was interested in you or that I was actually sleeping with you?”

“Yes,” Hotch says. “Either. Both.”

“Oh, Morgan had the misfortune of hearing all about what I thought of you pretty much as soon as we were friends, so he’s been in the loop for, oh, four years? He knows everything.”

“Well, that explains a number of oddly intense performance reviews I’ve had with him,” Hotch says.

There’s a beat before Spencer says, “I hadn’t considered that.”

“I hadn’t either, but it makes sense in hindsight,” Hotch says.

“God, I love you,” Spencer says. And then he tosses the journal he’s reading onto the floor and rolls on top of Hotch. And kisses him like he means it. He does. Hotch knows it.


End file.
